“Caw!” said a voice. I jumped. From the depths of the garage, a crow stared out at me. This cheeky bird was perched on the handlebars of my bike.
The crow cocked his head to the side; his bright eyes shone with curiosity. But I wasn’t about to go any closer. Crows had been dive-bombing us in our garden ever since we moved in, so I didn’t trust this one, even if he looked a bit smaller and friendlier than the others.
I looked at Keith. “What do we do?” We were running late for an appointment, and since we were still searching for a car, bikes were our only mode of transportation. But I couldn’t very well take my bike out when a crow was perched on it.
Keith started around to the back of the house to try to chase the crow out of the garage from behind. He didn’t get very far, because two other crows, possibly the parents of the crow in our garage, cawed angrily and swooped down around him. He came back holding a broom. “Shoo!” he called, swiping at the crow with the broom. The crow didn’t move.
I stared at the crow, and the crow stared back. “What should I do? There’s a crow in my garage, and he won’t go away!” I said in Japanese to no one in particular. A group of elderly women happened to be walking by, and they stopped to see what the strange foreigner was so worked up about. “Look, he’s sitting on my bike!” I exclaimed.
One of the women wordlessly grabbed the broom from Keith, turned it around, and extended the handle towards the crow. “Come on, little one! It’s okay! Come on!” she encouraged. The crow immediately hopped onto the end of the broom, allowing himself to be carried out into the street. He sat there for a moment, dazed by the bright June sun, then took a couple of hops before he flapped off.
Keith and I sputtered our thanks; she gave a curt bow before continuing on her way.
